


I Like Your Hair

by Spuri



Series: Tumblr shorts [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hair Kink, M/M, Mutual Pining, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:54:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spuri/pseuds/Spuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek really likes Stiles' hair, and he knows that's really weird. Doesn't mean he deserves the torture of washing Stiles' hair for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Like Your Hair

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [ this prompt](http://keriarentikai.tumblr.com/post/64015269880/theragnarokd-drunktuesdaze-stele3-all-i), ages ago.

Derek hates -  _loathes_  - the fact that Stiles grew out his hair. It was bad enough that he was crushing on an underage teenager, of all things, but now Stiles’ hair was  _just_  the right length to grab and pull at, or run fingers through. Was it soft, Derek wondered, or coarse, or maybe stiff with product?

And sometimes, when Stiles was frustrated, he’d run his hands through his own hair, or just rest them on his head, or  _pull_ , and Derek wanted. Craved. Pictured those fingers being his. And then he gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw against that lust, because normal people didn’t fantasize about people’s  _hair_ , it was crazy and depraved and fucking sick.

Maybe it was trauma, or maybe Derek had always been that way, but for some reason, he wasn’t really put together right. And the more he tried not to think about it, the more those ugly thoughts kept cropping up at the most inappropriate times.

Worse, Stiles actually  _liked_  him now, trusted him for some reason, and never really had his guard up around Derek, and it made him feel like the biggest scum of the earth. He should tell Stiles, warn him away, because it wasn’t right to keep that kind of betrayal of trust hidden, but…

Derek didn’t want Stiles looking at him with disgust and contempt. He normally didn’t care much what people thought about him, but this one thing, he wanted to keep safe. The tingling in his chest when Stiles grinned at him. The fuzzy warmth when Stiles slouched against him, due to alcohol or exhaustion, or just during pack movie night. The maddening tickling against his neck and ear when Stiles fell asleep on his shoulder, and his hair brushed against Derek with every breath.

Derek could face certain death, but he wasn’t sure he could face trading that feeling and the guilt that came with it for truth and Stiles looking at him like the creep he was.

But still. Even if he was a coward, Derek was pretty sure he didn’t deserve this. Surely he didn’t deserve Stiles brandishing the hours-old cast on his right hand, a shampoo bottle in his left, and a pair of puppy eyes.

"C’mon, man, I broke this arm protecting  _you_ , dude. There are leaves in my hair. And other things I really don’t want to think about,” Stiles whined.  
  
"Why can’t you ask Scott? Or your dad? I’m sure they’d help you out," Derek said, trying his best not to show the sheer amount of panic and  _want_  he was feeling. Because really, there was no way he would get out of  _washing Stiles’ hair for him_  with his dignity intact. What little was left of it, anyway.

"I have a pact with Scott that him touching my hair is not a thing that’s going to happen, ever. Seriously, it’s not a thing either of us wants," Stiles said with a grimace. "And dad… no, just no. I’m not four years old."

Derek tried to protest, he really did, but somehow, five minutes later, he was sitting on the edge of his tub, next to where a shirtless Stiles was bent over it, oh god, and trying not to shake as he ran his fingers through Stiles’ hair, making sure it was properly soaked. He’d never been more thankful in his life that his jeans didn’t really have… room for him to grow, because discomfort was better than pitching an obvious tent, even if Stiles was looking down at the tub bottom at the moment, and not at him.

Massaging the shampoo into Stiles  _ridiculously soft hair, how was it even possible for hair to get that soft_ , was simultaneously both heaven and the worst kind of torture Derek had ever endured. And he was familiar with torture, okay.

Then Stiles whimpered, and Derek froze, his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. Had he gotten carried away somehow?

"Stiles? You okay? Did I… was I too rought? Or does your arm hurt?" he babbled, and yep, there went his dignity. Fuck.

"I’m fine," Stiles groaned, and his left hand was almost white with the force of his grip on the tub. "Shut up and wash."

"You don’t… sound okay," Derek carefully pointed out, and did a discrete sniff to see if his nose could pinpoint the reason Stiles was-…

Oh. Huh.  _What_? Derek could feel his entire body freezing. He’d recognize that scent anywhere, especially from Stiles, but there was absolutely no reason why he’d be turned on right now, teenager or not.

"Man, I picked you over dad or Scott because I figured it’d be less mentally scarring, but I forgot about your fucking  _nose_ , and the possibility for abject mortification,” Stiles said morosely.

"You… what?" Derek knew he wasn’t exactly Sherlock Holmes material, but what the fuck did Scott or Sheriff Stilinski have to do with this?

"My entire scalp is like a giant fucking erogenous zone, okay, why do you think I kept it buzzed for so long?! Dad or Scott touching it is so beyond creepy bad touch, I have no words. And then you had to go and have magic fingers on top of everything else!"

Stiles was actively sulking, and Derek was having trouble keeping up with the conversation, because his brain sort of crashed at  _erogenous zone_ _._ "But…  _me_  touching your hair isn’t creepy bad touch?” he asked for clarification, feeling distinctly lightheaded from guilt and lust and the perfect smell of Stiles’ arousal.  _From Derek’s fingers in his hair, what the fuck_!

Stiles groaned. “Oh come on, as if you don’t already know about my massive and pathetic crush on you. Could you please just finish washing my hair, and we can forget this ever happened?”

"No," Derek growled, without even conscious thought, and unintentionally tugged a little at Stiles’ hair. The answering whine and increased spicy scent of arousal in the air had him practically salivating.

"Dude, what?" Stiles gasped. "Why would you do that?!"

"I like your hair," Derek managed to grit out. Okay, way to sound like a fucking creep. "And you. I like you, Stiles."

"Oh my god, please tell me I’m not dreaming."  
  
Derek tugged obligingly on Stiles hair again, and ran his hand down the back and side of his neck. “Does it feel like you’re dreaming?”

"Oh fuck no, my dreams are never this good," Stiles said on a moan. Derek was kind of inclined to agree. "Get the shampoo out? I need to not be awkwardly hanging over the edge of a bathtub, there needs to be like 1000% more touching, everywhere."

Derek was all too happy to comply.  


 

* * *

  
  
"So," Stiles mumbled lazily against Derek’s chest some time later - possibly hours? Derek didn’t know or care, as long as he could gently run his fingers through Stiles’ hair - smelling sated and happy. "The endless hair touching, is that just because of what I said, or-…?"

Derek shushed him with a kiss to the temple, not really having the energy or the mood for a proper explanation. Maybe some other day. For now…

"I told you, I like your hair."

Stiles made a contented noise, and burrowed closer. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Poke me on [ tumblr](http://spurisani.tumblr.com)! Because I have no life.


End file.
